


Fears

by WeirdTea



Category: Young Dracula (TV)
Genre: Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdTea/pseuds/WeirdTea
Summary: Robin hasn't really thought about Vampires since he was a kid and got over that, but now in uni some halloween costumes seem to be setting off unexpected feelings.
Relationships: Robin Branagh/Vladimir Dracula
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73





	1. Fears

It’s strange how the things you loved as a child can terrify you as an adult. There’s this misconception that children scare easily and adults can deal with far darker themes and images in their films and tv, but have you ever gone back and watched a kids cartoon? Particularly ones from the 90’s? Some of them are truly horrifying to behold. And maybe kids just didn’t see the darkens that as an adult is so obvious, or maybe they just revel in it. They make the darkness fun in a way you just can’t when you’re all grown up. Once reality sets in and the real painful consequences of darkness become all to apparent. That was Robin’s theory anyway.

But then it wasn’t just cartoons he loved as a kid that had him spooked. It was his own art work. It was the horror movies rated 15 and 18 that he adored before actually being those ages but now… now vampires terrified him. And it didn’t make sense. Vampires were his first great love, the earliest thing he ever felt truly passionate about. They were the inspiration that drove him to art. They were what he spent all his pocket money on. They were what he chose over fitting in, with his family and at school, they were what he chose over everything. And how he can’t stand them.

It wasn’t like one day he loved them and the next day he was cowering in fear. Sometime before his 14th birthday he’d just moved on. Like a time to put away childish things thing. He was becoming a teenager and he wasn’t interested in hanging upside down in his room or wearing a cape or any of that. He’d look at his once prized possessions that had given him such a thrill before and felt… nothing. Plastic skulls and fake dead flowers and pencil cases shaped like coffins – bit by bit he got rid of them, until his room looked much like his brother’s. Just way less gross. And before he knew it it had been years since he’d even thought about vampires.

Then he moved out into student halls, decorated his room with sketches he’d done of his family, a band poster or two, and a naff print out of a Van Gogh. Nothing vampiric in sight. Until October came around. It was odd seeing cobwebs decorating the student union, and someone had decorated their shared kitchen with crime scene tape covered in fake blood. It was the kind of thing he used to love, the horror of it all. But other than laughing with his mates about how awkward they all used to be as kids and how weird it is being reminded of your old phases you’d out grown, he didn’t think twice about it. But then the actual day of Halloween came around and it seemed like everywhere he looked on campus there were the undead. Like seriously who dresses up as vampires anymore? Hadn’t they lost all mass appeal after Twilight? But there were fangs and fake blood and fake bite marks on necks everywhere. And it scared the living daylights out of him.

There is nothing, no human experience, more embracing than having to be taken home early by your friends because you got scared of people in _costumes_ to the point of having a panic attack in the bathroom. Vampires were the reason he had no friends in school, and now they were the reason he’d have none in uni as well. The look Gareth had given him as he left to go back to the party. Like Robin was a mental case and he was getting out while he could. And the girls were worse, cooing at him and holding his hands and stocking his hair like he was a big baby. He wasn’t trying to shag any of them, still learning how to do friends before anything else, but it still hurt realising that option was now forever off the table. _Stupid_, _stupid_, _stupid_!

He was too wrung out to sleep, and he wasn’t going to go to bed this early anyway, but with everyone out celebrating Halloween there wasn’t much to do. Maybe he should just try face this, go back to the party and force himself to have a good long talk with one of the vampires until his hands stopped shaking and he could redeem at least some cred. But what if he tried and just freaked out again? He almost threw up before what if he actually did this time? Best not do any more damage than he already had.

He hated how much all this social stuff meant to him. He wanted so badly to just not care. It was the people who weren’t trying to be popular that inevitably had all the friends wasn’t it. But the trouble is no matter how cool he tried to act he couldn’t pretend even to himself that he wasn’t desperate for friends. His whole childhood he’s been a freak, and he hadn’t cared because they were all idiots for liking camping and sports and bright colours and _normal_ things. He hadn’t cared that they call called him freak because they were the freaks and it didn’t matter that that left him completely, painfully alone. It was an aesthetic choice, the broody gothic artist. Until it wasn’t. Until nobody came to his 14th birthday who wasn’t related to him – and even his brother’s had to be bribed by their mam to be there. And every time he heard a noise outside that whole day he’d jumped, his heart racing, like he was expecting someone. But who the hell was gonna turn up? He had no friends, no one who cared. But the whole day he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was missing. Someone important, who wouldn’t miss his birthday.

Wishful thinking. Even once he moved on from vampires it seemed everyone in Stokely had already decided he was a freak. That’s why he’d picked a uni far far away from there. A fresh start. The closest thing he’d ever had to a friend was Jonno Van Helsing. The first year of normal Robin post Vampire obsession he’d been kinda lost. An artist needs passion but he’d seemed to have lost his. So he was just sort of out of it and wandering. He’s overheard his parents worrying about him multiple times that year. No sense of direction, seems to be adrift. He’d even heard his dad wish Robin was still into Vampire cause then ‘at least the boy had some drive behind him’. And even though Jonno had never been as passionate about anything as Robin had been vampires, he seemed just as adrift that year as Robin felt. And they ended up sort of drifting together. Jonno was the only other person at school who got how it felt to be lost.

But then Jonno’s father died in that car crash. And it was like Jonno snapped out of something. Well, Robin reasoned, if anything was capable of snapping someone out of a daze it was the loss of a parent. But Jonno didn’t have to be such a dick to him. It was like one minute they were birds of a feather the next Jonno was giving him dirty looks. It was almost as if he blamed him for his dad’s death. And then Jonno and his mam packed up and moved away without even saying goodbye. That was right after Stokley castle burned down too. Robin had never been able to explain it properly but that fire cut deep. Hurt worse even then Jonno glaring at him. He’d loved that castle as a kid. Never went up to it, but it had always been there. Gothic and creepy and so very unlike anything else in Stokely. Even after his love of Vampires had passed he’s still liked looking up at it. It was other and alone up on that hill. And when he looked up at it sometimes he wouldn’t feel so alone. But other times he would just feel worse.

But maybe that wouldn’t be one of those times. He couldn’t exactly nip back to Stokely and the castle was a burnt out ruin now anyway, but his mam had given him this tacky photo album when he moved out full of photos of his childhood. “So you don’t forget who you are” she’d said. Not forget where he’d come from, or remember to come home, but so he’d not forget who he was. Which was weird, because he wasn’t really anybody special. He’d only briefly flicked through the album to please her and then shoved it in a drawer. But now he scrambled for it. Maybe if he could see himself back then, when Vampires were the coolest and the castle still stood, maybe he could ground himself somehow. Maybe his hands would finally stop shaking.

The first few pages were him when he was really little, pre-discovery of all things gothic. He looked normal, but he also still looked out of place. Even in a beavers uniform sitting with his dad’s scout troop on a camp out he just looked like he didn’t belong. He was sitting off to the side, and looked glum. Robin had always assumed it was his goth weirdness that had driven people away but maybe he’d just always been bad at making friends. Always an outsider. And his mam would’ve known that. Maybe that’s what she meant, he thought irritably flipping through pages, by remember who he was. Perhaps she knew he’d never make friends and was trying to tell him to just accept he was meant to be lonely and get on with it. That was the job of a parents right? To encourage their golden children and to help their lost causes accept harsh realities so they can suffer less for the hope of better.

When he finally found a page with decidedly less colour than the rest he was taken aback, not by the gothic get up of his nine year old self but by how happy he looked. He had vampire fangs in and a cape and his hair all gelled back and he looked a state but he was grinning. The next few pages were as dark but not so happy. Robin guessed the initial joy of his new favourite thing had been dampened somewhat by everyone calling him _freak_. Looking back now, Robin can’t help but feel angry. Who the hell has the right to tell an eleven year old they are a freak just for dressing up. He was a kid. Kids can be cruel, but they weren't the only ones making him feel bad. Maybe that’s why he lost his joy in it. The thing that he loved ruined. If he’s just had one friend, one ally who had stood by him and told him there was nothing wrong with loving something that much. Maybe he’d still be able to feel.

That thought took him by surprise. Robin tried not to focus too much on how bad he felt sometimes, too goal orientated. Too focused on making friends and being normal. Nobody wants be to friends with someone who feels nothing. Who’d been lonely for so long that he just shut off because it was easier not to feel anything at all. He liked to think he could still be happy, still be passionate and excited about things, but deep down he knew it was a lie. The fear he’d felt at that party was the strongest thing he’d felt in years. And it felt awful. It was like all those years of being alone were just pilling up and suffocating him. It felt like how Jonno had looked after his dad had died. Like something important was missing and his whole life was just a gaping wound. And the next thing he knew he was hyperventilating on the bathroom floor and everything was spinning.

Robin didn’t know why it took so much effort to turn the next page. The photos were just getting into peak vampire obsession and he probably just didn’t want to comfort how bad he was. How off the rails. But as he finally pushed forward and looked his heart was pounding in his ears and he wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe. Or, more accurately, considering what he was seeing, he wasn’t sure he remembered much of anything.

Because there was a boy in the photos with him. A boy smiling with him, standing next to him not an awkward distance away. A boy wearing a vampire cape in one photo. A boy with shallow looking skin and grey-blue eyes and clothes so colourful he gave Ian and Paul a run for their money and yet – and yet he was hanging out with Robin. Photo after photo of them. The real clincher was a photo very clearly from Robin’s thirteenth birthday. He counted the candles on the pictured cake to be sure. He had no memory of that birthday, but apparently he’d had a sleep over with a friend. They were both in pajamas and the boy was staring at Robin with so much affection in his eyes as Robin went to blow out the candles – the care on his face hurt.

This threw into question everything Robin knew about himself. Was his whole identity a lie? He’d heard of people making their own narratives but how exactly does someone forget their one and only friend? Why would he even do that to himself? Certainly not on purpose. He kept turning pages, soaking up a new moment with this boy in every photo. The almost constant quirk of his eyebrows that made him always look just a little worried. His big eyes that seemed to hold a world in them. His small but toothy smile that was nearly always aimed at Robin or whatever Robin was doing. There was even one of them sitting on the bridge by Robin’s gran’s house, legs hanging over the edge as they talked. This friend had come on a family trip? He looked so at peace soaking up the sun while Robin drew. But then he turned to the next page and the boy was gone. He flipped through the next few but still nothing. The boy had vanished without a trace.

With a jolt Robin realised the last photo with this friend in it was just weeks before Robin’s 14th birthday. The birthday he’d spent the whole day glancing at the door as if he was expecting someone to come. Someone who cared. Someone who was always there. Someone who wouldn’t miss Robin’s birthday for the world. His hands were shaking worse than ever. What did this all mean? Had his one and only friend abandoned him? Or worse had something awful happened and that’s why Robin had blocked all the memories out? He looked back at the photos he had of him, studied his face. And a thought crosses his mind like a prayer – _please be okay, wherever you are, please be alright_.

He briefly considered calling home. Surely his mam would remember this friend. This boy her problem child of a youngest son spent all his time with for a least a year or more. But it was late, and he’d have to explain what brought this on, and he really didn’t want her figuring out he was having panic attacks again. But a thought occurred to him – he was drawing in that photo. In fact he was drawing in quite a few. And he’d brought a big folder of his old art with him when he moved. The subject matter may be grotesque and horrifying but it was still some of his best art he’d ever done. Even now with years of practice and actual learned technique behind it his art lacked the passion of his youth. So he’d kept them. A folder of his potential not so much to look at but just to remind him he wasn’t completely useless. That he had been good at something and maybe could be again.

He grabbed at the folder and flicked through the pages at a manic rate until he found what he was looking for. The drawing was breathtaking, truly some of his best work. The figure in it was a vampire with red eyes and huge fangs but was also obviously the boy. Even as a vampire he’d given his friend kind eyes. His heart was pounding in his chest, fear rising in his throat at the vampiric image. He looked through the other drawings, unsure how he should feel when almost half of them were of his friend. Some were of him as a vampire, but others just sketches of his face like Robin had spent hours and hours trying to get the likeness just right. And here he thought Vampires were his only obsession. Finally he landed on one particularly bizarre one that had something written next to it. The drawing it’s self was of the boy apparently fighting his own vampiric reflection. The reflection was truly monstrous with many fangs and cold black eyes but despite this the sweet boy seemed to be winning. He had a birthday badge on his chest bearing the number 16, which was odd considering he couldn’t have been more that 13 in the last photo of them together. The sheet before it had multiple angles of the same scene over and over again, like Robin had been trying to get it just right. In some the boy didn’t look as sure of winning. And in one that had been scribbled over the boy had seemingly lost and was being puppeted into biting what looked like Robin’s neck. But the final piece showed his victory over his darker self and had been drawn with such care Robin felt a great swell of pride. And written in the top corner in his messy handwriting was ‘_To Vlad, Happy Birthday, you’ve got this_’.

Vlad.

_Vlad_.

_VLAD_.

The name felt like it was knocking hard at the inside of his skull. His friend _Vlad_. His _best friend Vlad_. His only friend and best friend in the whole world _Vlad_ \- who was so worried about something that was going to happen on his 16th birthday that Robin felt the need to draw something to show his support. His belief in him. Even two years in advance. And still Vlad had left him. Robin felt cold, like his skin was freezing him. He’d loved Vampires. He’d loved Vlad. And then something happened and Vlad was gone and Robin didn’t feel anything anymore. Not a thing, until he felt fear seeing the reason he didn’t have Vlad in his life anymore walking around everywhere he looked. But that was crazy. He was being crazy. What he was considering wasn’t possible. Vampires didn’t take away his friend – _there is no such thing as vampires. They do not exist._

No that wasn’t right. There was something off about that. He tried again, seeming unable to move past this road block in his mind. _There is no such thing as vampires. They do not exist_. No. Try that again. _There is no such thing as vampires. _They _do not exist_. _Vampires do not exist. Vampires do not exist_! The room was spinning and Robin briefly worried he was about to pass out. It felt like he was about to blackout. But he pushed. Something was niggling at the back of his brain. Something out of place. He pulled out a mostly blank bit of paper from the folder, the only thing on it a small sketch of Vlad with a vampire cape on, and wrote it out.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS VAMPIRES – WE DO NOT EXIST

“**_We_** do not exist” he breathed out and choked back a sob. We do not exist. That’s what Vlad had said. Not _they_ do not exist – _we_! We do not exist! Vlad does not exist! Vampires do not exist! Vlad is a vampire and vAMpiREs aRE REAL! It was like a hundred different doors bursting open in his head. Memories rushing in. Vlad’s cautious eyes. His smile. Vlad climbing into his bedroom to talk and Robin making fun of him for not flying like a proper vampire. Vlad being a Dracula. A Dracula! Of all the vampires to move to Stokey! Ingrid! Ingrid getting Paul and Ian and everyone else to worship the ground she stood on. Vlad wanting so badly to be normal. But also to not disappoint his dad. Vlad so worried he was never good enough. Vlad never wanting to be a monster. Vlad helping his evil sister run from her own reflection when she turned 16, only for her to turn and fight and win! Robin deciding to draw something for Vlad so he knew he cared. Realising for the first time that Vlad turning 16 could mean losing his best mate forever. Vlad’s shy smiles and gorgeous eyes and the way he’d indulge Robin’s love of all things gothic and horror even though all he wanted was to escape that. Vlad so worried about Robin getting hurt whenever other Vampires came to town. Robin so worried about Vlad when the Van Helsings actually got close to slaying the Draculas.

It was like he was being slapped in the face as every new memory hit him. Feelings of hope and fear and affection and joy and pain and love churning inside him stronger than anything he’d felt in years. But nothing hurt or hit him as hard as the last memory – the very last memory he has of Vlad. The castle under siege on all sides. Vampire's being dusted around them, and Vlad putting on the bone crown of the Grand High Vampire even though it had killed those who had put it on before. Vlad rising up and glowing and saying– and saying-

And then Robin was crying on the floor of his halls room clutching at drawings of his best mate as reality caught up with him. _Vlad had left him_. He’d chosen to wipe his memories and then leave. He’d been so sure that he’d meant as much to Vlad as Vlad did to him but he would have never left him. He’d been so sure Vlad had needed him too. He’d even spent hours on that dumb drawing trying to see past his own obsession, see that to Vlad vampires weren’t cool they were his horrifying reality that he was scared of and need Robin to reassure him everything would be okay. He felt sick. Grabbing at the drawing in question he pulled it up, ready to vehemently tear it to shreds, when it dawned on him. This had been _years_ ago. Vlad hadn’t just left him a few weeks ago it had been years! Vlad would be… Vlad would be 18 by now! He’d not only left Stokley, and Robin, behind, he’d have gone through the mirror transformation. He’d be a full vampire! Had been for years! And he’s the Grand High Vampire right?! That’s what putting the crown on meant. The Vlad Robin had known, and now he’s looking back on it loved, could be long gone. Replaced by a blood thirsty monster of the likes Robin used to fantasize about before he knew better.

All of Robin’s vampire related things had been gone by his 16th birthday. All the old movies boxed up in the loft or charity shopped. He hadn’t seen a vampire, hadn’t had to think about them since before Vlad would have turned. He didn’t care about vampires back then - how could they be captivating without the belief – no the knowledge – that they were real. The trill of it. But seeing them now, knowing deep down somewhere what his friend must have become, they weren’t boring. They were terrifying. They were a reminder of everything Vlad must have had to face on his own, without Robin by his side. He looked at his drawing again, something he meant to give Vlad to reassure him. And he wondered if it was even close to what had happened. Vlad on his own with no one to talk to outside of his family, no one to confide his fears in. No one who understood. He wondered if Vlad had had to hug a stuffed toy the night before his 16th birthday, like he had his first night in a coffin, because he was so afraid. Robin had always had this idea in his head of him sleeping over the night before to distract him and pep him up. Ingrid probably called him nasty names for not being vampire enough, and the Count probably enthused about the blood thirsty monster Vlad was about to become, just like Bros had, with no tact or understanding that that would mean the Vlad he knew basically dying.

Maybe that’s why Vampire parents were so cruel to their kids… trying not to get too attached. Or maybe if they made their kids act as vampiric as possible before hand they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference afterwards and could fool themselves into thinking it was still their child. That they had won the fight. Robin always thought on the surface of it getting fangs and all that was really cool. Even the danger and darkness of it was thrilling to him. But there are things that children aren’t scared by that terrify adults. Looking back all Robin can feel is sick. Is Vlad even still alive? Even if he is, is he even still him?

Robin doesn’t sleep that night. Or go to class the next day. He ignores his phone and the knocking on his door. He just sits and stews in the dark. He wants to hate Vlad for leaving him. And for taking away the only thing that really mattered to him other than Vlad in one fell swoop. But he also can’t bring himself to hate him. And when he tries he just thinks about Vlad’s scared face, imagines him going to the mirror room alone, and he just winds up hating himself for not being there instead.

It’s about 3am before he forces himself to get up off the floor and grab a bowl of cereal and a drink from the kitchen before he passes out. The coco pops taste like ash in his mouth. At some point in a desperate attempt to break the cycle of who’s he really mad at really he decides to think about Jonno. A terrible idea really. It didn’t take a genius to realise something about Jonno’s dad dying snapped him out of Vlad’s hypnosis. That’s why he had glared at Robin those last few weeks before they moved. He’d remembered he was a hunter, and Robin had been a sympathiser. Since the death snapped him out it was likely vampires who killed his dad. Robin must have looked like scum to Jonno. And he hadn’t told him. He’d remembered Robin was friends with Vlad, realised Robin didn’t remember and he’d said nothing. Must have figured Robin was better off not knowing about vampires. And maybe on some level, that of basic safety, he was. But anyone who actually knew him would have known that was bullshit. Knowing about vampires would have meant remembering Vlad, remembering he had had a friend, remembering he was worthy of that. Remembering would have meant not feeling so lost and alone. Probably would have meant less panic attacks in his teens too. Would have meant feeling _something_. Doing _something_ with his life. Something worthwhile. Even if that was just sketching Vlad over and over until he finally realised how big a crush he had on him. Or getting killed hanging out with Vlad’s family like an idiot. Just being with Vlad would have been worth it.

Stokely castle was a burn out ruin. And when he called his mam first thing in the morning she blearily told him she had no idea where the ‘Counts’ had moved too. Robin went to a lecture or two at the insistence of one of his nicer flatmates who had a habit of mothering everybody. But he didn’t pay attention, instead he pretended to take notes on his laptop while actually searching online for castles. There were quite a few candidates he could rule out due to them either pointedly being uninhabited for years and years or them having people already living in them prior to the Dracula’s leaving Stokely. He refused to entertain the idea that they had left the country completely. The world was a big place, too big for him to ever find Vlad. He moved on from castles to just big old buildings by day four and stumbled across Garside Grange just outside Liverpool.

It was a large Victorian red-brick building that had been bought and converted into a high school the same year the Dracula’s had left Stokely. It was the year more than anything that caught Robin’s eye but once he read more it seemed obvious. The school had shut down last year – just when Vlad would have been finishing school anyway. And the idea of Vlad finding a school he could live in so as not to have to go through the sunlight to get to classes was genius. It also gave Robin a lot of hope. If Vlad had gone full monster at 16 the school would have closed then, either due to him no longer caring about breather school, or because he’s killed too many of the students to keep going. There were very few details he could find online, and no evidence at all that the owner was the count or that his son had attended. But he did manage to find an article talking about the launch party of a vampire themed computer game, the second in a series, being held at Garside Grange by the game developers; Piers Seward and Ingrid Count. _Ingrid_. What were the chances?

It was all he needed. After years of feeling nothing but loneliness Robin had found hope. And he clung to it with everything he had. He told his head of year that he’d had an anxiety related breakdown, which was half true, and needed to take some time. He was allowed to defer and get back to them in time for the new term. Then he packed up his stuff and caught the first train, not home to his family as he’s told the uni, but to Liverpool. He knew it was mad. He knew Ingrid would probably kill him, if it even was the right Ingrid. And even if she didn’t Vlad might not want to see him. Or might be dead. Or evil. But something in his gut told him this was the best decision he’d made since climbing up that tower into Vlad’s bedroom. As a child he’d been scared of all kinds of things. Admitting how much he needed Vlad, turning into his dad, admitting how he really felt about so many things. But walking up the road to Garside Grange he couldn’t find it in himself to be scared of anything at all.


	2. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vlad's had to make a lot of difficult choices in his life, the kind of choices you can't go back from. Until maybe now he can...

Vlad had been back at Garside Grange for three nights – _three sodding nights_ – before Ingrid decided to tell him that oh yes that weirdo Branagh had come knocking for him a month or so ago. And even then it was only because Piers reminded her! Vlad’s head was still reeling. Robin was looking for him. _Robin_! He’d been pushing down thoughts about him for so long now it felt strange to actually think about him on purpose. Apparently he’d remembered they were vampires, had remembered Vlad, and wanted to see him. But surely Robin knew he’d gone through the transformation? Vlad might not even be the same person Robin had known? He might’ve become a monster intent on draining all of the Branaghs dry. Vlad still wasn’t a hundred present sure he wasn’t, recent events considered. Why on earth would Robin invite that kind of danger back into his life?

Well, Vlad guessed it wasn’t that unbelievable. In fact it was so perfectly Robin he almost laughed out loud. That boy had never had a good sense of self preservation. Even when Chloe had turned against him and tried to get Robin to see sense and stop hanging out at the castle - Robin had stood by him. Robin had always stood by him. Oh and there was the ache in his chest, the wound that never truly healed no matter how much he’d tried to move on. How can a friendship be both the best thing in your life and also something it’s better for both of you to just forget and move on from? Because Vlad had no option but move on. Great momentous choice and all that. _You will know you are the chosen one when you choose the family you love over the life you love_. Over the breather you love. And Vlad had chosen! And waking up days later in the hearse on the run with his dad and Reinfeild – realising what he’d lost forever – it had to be one of the lowest moments of his un-life.

But that was the kicker wasn’t it? _One_ of the lowest moments. Not the lowest. Because despite all logic and all things fair in this world that choice to accept he was the chosen one and walk away from his dreams of being a normal breather wasn’t his last _momentous choice_. Not even close. No, he’d had to choose whether or not to let his then-girlfriend die because of him or go against her dying wish and turn her into a vampire so he wouldn’t have to lose her too. He’d chosen wrong as it turns out. And then he’d had a matter of hours to choose whether or not to step into the sun on his eighteenth birthday and finally get his wish to be a breather or stay in the dark and stay a vampire. Most kids get chicken soup when they get colds, he got his entire sense of identity derailed since apparently his mum was not actually his real mum! And now just over a year later he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the wrong choice again. He’d previously thought two out of three momentous choices was good but now looking back… he wasn’t so sure.

The real problem, the one that had him staying with his sister at Garside again (better than moving in with his dad like a complete failure), was that he didn’t really have time to think about his choice properly before having to make it. Any of them. There was never time. There was always a deadline, a ticking bomb waiting to go off. He’d had to put the crown on to save his family all those years ago. Will had already been dusted, it would have been Ingrid or his dad next. And then with Erin there was the sunrise weakening him so he couldn’t hold her back from true death any longer. The sun was up. Times up. Too late. Make a choice or let her die. And then again with his birthday. They were all in danger from the Blood Seed. If he hadn’t done something the world might have ended for all he knew. And he thought that this time he was making a choice for himself. Choosing the person he wanted to be with over his family. Choosing a life with Talitha over one as a breather with his real mum and little sister. But now looking back it looked an awful lot like the choice he’d made at fourteen.

And now here he was staying as a guest in Ingrid’s castle without Talitha and wondering if it was really possible for him to have a do-over. For him to just go home to Stokley and see Robin again. It scared him how much he wanted to. And not just because this was _Robin_. It almost felt to perfectly timed. Because he found himself in need of a breather. Because he needed someone to remind him of who he was. Because one of the many things he hadn’t had time to consider on his eighteenth birthday was that he wasn’t choosing to _stay_ a vampire – he was choosing to _become_ one. Because Vlad had never been a vampire, not properly anyway. He might not have known it but he had always been Dimidius. He had always had a breather half. Had built his entire identity around being a very breather like vampire. But now? Now he was _just_ a Vampire. The incredibly powerful Grand High Vampire, literally the Lord Emperor Elect finally secure in his power, sure - but he was still just a vampire. Or all vampire, however you wanted to put it. His breather half had been purged from him when he didn’t step into the dawn light. And without that breather half he was kinda terrified of who he would become.

Who he was already becoming according to Tal. Or at least so she’d said in their last moments together as their entire relationship imploded. He’d put too much on her he knew, pretending she and she alone was the reason he’d given up his humanity. But she’d put too much on him too. The whole vampire world expected a lot of him as the chosen one, but letting them down was just a matter of not being bloodthirsty enough and could always be rectified with a show of power. Letting her down once she’d put him up on a pedestal meant failing her moral standards, not being the visionary she’d wanted him to be. Her disappointment cut deep. But he’d never really wanted to be a big visionary. He’d just wanted to be Vlad. But before being just Vlad had included being half breather. Now it didn’t. And he had no clue what to do with himself now.

He’d been debating just continuing the trend of surrendering the moral high ground and going to see his mum. His real mum. He was sure Ingrid would reverse the mind wipe for him if he begged, or did her enough favours. And then he could stay with Sally and George for a bit and soak in some of what he was so desperately missing now – his human half. He just didn’t feel complete since losing it. In fact he felt rather hollow, and cold. Things he used to care about more than anything now felt like dull pangs. And he didn’t want to become this person. But he wasn’t quite sure he was unfeeling enough yet to endanger his mum and George again, no matter how much he might want too.

But then Robin appears like a bolt from the blue practically volunteering to be his breather anchor in the storm. Robin with his complete lack of self-preservation. Robin with his loyalty. Robin with his smiles and his jokes and his brown eyes. And who cared if he’d sometimes proved to be more vampiric than actual vampires – he was Vlad’s best friend! Even after all this time. No one else had even come close to filling that spot. There was no replacing Robin. And now Vlad might not have too. The hope that burned in his chest at the thought of that was almost more than he could bear. It was the most he’d felt in _months_. The thought of seeing Robin again, of having him back in his un-life, made him feel more intensely than having to say goodbye to his mum before her memories were taken, more than the disappointment in Tal’s face, more than the horror in his victims eyes.

So really that was all he needed to know. He was going to go see Robin. It was that simple. He vampire sped packed (never a good idea if you care even a little about your appearance) and stopped by the throne room just long enough for a hurried goodbye to Ingrid and then he was out the door before she’d even managed to call after him that he only had a few hours before dawn. He could not find it in himself to care.

Although he probably should have. Arriving in Stokley with no plan at all lead to him hurriedly bunkering down in the burnt out ruins of Stokely castle. Not as nostalgic as he would have hoped. The slayers had really done a number on it. He’d briefly considered going straight to the Branagh home but what if Robin wasn’t even there? He’d need to hypnotise someone into inviting him in, not the best first impression after so many years, and then what? Lay in wait for Robin to return like the monster he was afraid he was becoming? And what if Robin had changed his mind about wanting to see him? No, they needed to meet in a nice neutral space with plenty of time before the sun came up. So he tried his best to sleep in the leaky old castle dungeons. His dreams were filled with brown eyes and earnest smiles. When he woke at dusk his whole body was humming with the knowledge that he would see Robin tonight.

He was dressed and out of the castle into the cool evening air before the buzz of excitement had a chance to die down. Vlad decided just knocking on the front door, despite being exactly what Robin had done, probably wasn’t for the best. So instead he wondered round the block a few times until he saw the light on in Robin’s old room. Hands shaking he picked up a bit of gravel from the garden across from the Branagh’s and flicked it at Robin’s window. Only after did it occur to him how much this was like out of an old romantic movie. Fidgeting with nerves he was reconsidering just knocking the damn door when the curtness of Robin’s room flew open and Vlad desperately tried to stand still and look cool and not like the love sick fool he was pretty sure he was. That a big part of him hoped he still was. The figure was silhouetted against the light but Vlad was pretty sure he’d know Robin anywhere. They both stood perfectly still just taking the other in for a minute before Robin stepped away from the window. If Vlad’s heart could still beat he was sure it would be in his throat right now. The time it took for Robin to get from his window to the front door felt painfully long. And when he finally appeared Vlad couldn’t help his face splitting smile. This was it. This was really happening. This was _Robin_.

Robin walked across the road with eyes only for Vlad and then stopped in front of him. He was still the taller of the two, but only just. Vlad could see his Adam’s apple bob in the darkness, the street lights still to come on as the dusk light slowly died. Vlad couldn’t seem to stop his body from shaking, with fear or excitement he wasn’t sure.

“Hi”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't get mad at me for ending it there! The more I worked on it the more I liked the idea of giving them both a chapter of how they got to that point and then a third with the actual reunion (which I am working on now!). All you're comments and kudos so far have been amazing thank you soooo much!

**Author's Note:**

> I know it would have been better to end on a reunion, but I got that point were doing that would have meant dragging this out into a multi-chapter fit rather than a self-contained one shot. And I really needed this to just be a one shot so I could say look I finished that. And bear in mind at one point I was going to have Robin remembering Vlad’s hypnosis make him forget again, and imply this has happened loads of times and it’s just a horrible cycle of Robin remembering and forgetting over and over. But I stopped myself cause that is just too damn dark for my first fic in this fandom. So you get the hopeful ending instead :)
> 
> This was written as part of my Year of Glorious Fanfiction challenge where I write as least a little fanfiction every day. It’s still early days and I could use all the support and encouragement I can get so please do leave kodos or even a comment if you liked it!


End file.
